


Liars Dance to Dead Men's Songs

by cilceon



Series: Lying Eyes and Honest Hands [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:28:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27292720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cilceon/pseuds/cilceon
Summary: He pulled her close to him as radiation and lighting threatened the outside world. He took her out to the center of the room. He set his hand not holding Wanderer’s own on her hip. All movements that were out of character for Deacon. But what did she know of his character? What- if anything did she know about this man? That he didn’t like heights? Couldn’t pronounce yao guai? In the five or six months she had known him, he tried to convince her that he was in charge of The Railroad and not Desdemona. He tried to pull his whole synth routine on her too.It was a ghost of a touch on her side that made her question everything she though she knew about him. Deacon held her like he was scared she was made of glass and he could break her if he moved to fast. His contact with her had trepidation soaked through it as if he were yelling at himself for even suggesting being this close to her. Surly, she was imagining it.Their dancing was more of a slow swaying side to side than anything.(Wanderer and Deacon take shelter from an encroaching radiation storm in an old dinner she used to know. Inside they find a welcomed surprise and a respite from the outside world- if even for a moment.)
Relationships: Deacon/Female Sole Survivor
Series: Lying Eyes and Honest Hands [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992751
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Liars Dance to Dead Men's Songs

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I'm republishing the stories from my pervious series with major amendments and better closings (hopefully) so you might be thinking 'huh, I've already read a story like this...' to which I say 'yes, dear reader you 100% have! but now it actually reads well (hopefully)' so bear with me and my fast-food version of fallout fics.  
> I added about 1k more words with this amendment but if you want the old version the link to it is [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24157204)  
> Thank you so much for the support!  
> \- lyss

_“I know the houses too. As I walk along, they seem to run forward in the streets to look out at me from every window, and almost to say: “Good-morning! How do you do? I am quite well, thank god, and I am to have a new story in May,” or, “How are you? I am being redecorated tomorrow;” or, “I was almost burnt down and had such a fright,” and so on. I have my favorites among them, some are dear friends; one of them intends to be treated by the architect this summer. I shall go every day on purpose to see that the operation is not a failure. God forbid! But I shall never forget an incident with a very pretty little house of a light pink color. It was such a charming little brick house, it looked so hospitably at me, and so proudly at its ungainly neighbors, that my heart rejoiced whenever I happened to pass it. Suddenly last week I walked along the street, and when I looked at my friend, I heard a plaintive, “They are painting me yellow!” The villains! The barbarians! They had spared nothing, neither columns, nor cornices, and my poor little friend was as yellow as a canary. It almost made me bilious. And to this day I have not had the courage to visit my poor disfigured friend, painted the color of the Celestial Empire.”_

_\- Dostoevsky’s White Nights -_

One footstep followed by another- then a third. Wanderer watched her shoes with each movement. Staring at the faded and cracked asphalt underneath her. The dried weeds, shards of glass and other debris form the surrounding city a constant reminder that the world had peeled away around her. The two of them had been walking for the better part of the day and the ground was an easier thing to look at than the world around her.

There were days where it seemed impossible to look at the buildings around her in the heart of Boston. So long along it was that these deteriorating streets were full of color. People would crowd the sidewalks going to or from work or to the store. Cars would rush through the road her and Deacon now walked along, honking at each other in their claim that their time was more valuable than the people around them. As if there was still time to be had.

How strange to walk in the center of the road.

Sure, when Wanderer was a child out with her friends at night, they’d walk in the street. Headlights would let them know when they needed to scurry out of the way. Any excuse to stay out late back then. After high school, her friends and her stopped their road wandering as they drifted apart. Younger generations taking up the mantle.

Wanderer had to admit that when she first crawled out of the vault, she would stick to the right shoulder of the road regardless of where she was headed. The seventeen-year-old version of her would’ve been outraged over such a small thing.

The sun that had been beating down on the back of her neck with a burning fist for the duration of their ramble towards the great green jewel of the commonwealth, suddenly relented.

Wanderer readjusted the strap of her backpack, taking the liberty to look up to where the sun had been stubbornly blazing a moment prior. Sickly green clouds were encroaching from the west- the direction of the Glowing Sea.

She stopped the movement of her feet, eyes not leaving the sky. Shoulders dropping in abject despondency.

Deacon halted in tandem with her, hands going to his pockets lazily. “Was starting to wonder when you were going to notice the storm coming our way.”

Static-charged thunder rolled in the distance as she looked over to him. “You coulda said something you know?”

“I mean… yeah,” her friend shrugged, “But you seemed lost in thought. I didn’t want to interrupt your grand monologue.”

An abrupt clap of lightning made her jump.

Deacon quietly chuckled at her reaction to the flash, shoulders moving up and down faintly. A soft smile the only indicator of his amusement.

“It wasn’t much of a monologue.” She mumbled, “How close do you think we are to Diamond City.”

He had to have know she didn’t need to ask his opinion on the matter. Afterall, this was her town long before he found himself in it. Yes, every building was falling apart and some roads were blocked for one reason or another. But the ground plan of the city hadn’t changed and most street markers were standing if not half buried somewhere nearby.

On cue to her question, Deacon stuck his finger in his mouth before pulling it out with a pop. Promptly shooting it up towards the greening sky as if he were feeling for the direction of the wind. He hummed to himself, pretending to deep in thought before returning his hand to his pocket. “Well boss, I hate to say it. But its too far for me to be happy about running- or lightly jogging in our usual fashion.”

Wanderer glared up at her reflection in his glasses as rain began to sprinkle down around them. “It ain’t my fault you can run faster than me.” She looked passed him the street corner, causing him to turn as well. A faded green sign proudly proclaiming they were on Mass Avenue. “Hm. We’re near Miss Milly’s.”

“I hate to be the barer of bad news but I don’t think she’s still taking up residence in this neighborhood.” He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, the only indicator he would give her that they probably shouldn’t be standing out in the open in an area where ferals liked to meander while a storm was about to come down.

“What? No- Milly’s isn’t a person. It’s an old dinner the next street over.” She clarified as they begin to walk, “It’s one of the places my friends from law school would always go to.”

“No kidding? Think I’ll get a discount if I tell them _I’m_ a student?”

“Sure,” She decided to play along, “Remind me what it is that your studding my friend?”

“Human ethics of course.” He fell into stride beside her “What do the kids get at these again? Shakes? I do love me a good shake.”

Reaching the front of the restaurant, she noted the prominent layer of dirt in front of the only door. No one had gone inside for a long time. Regardless of that fact, she pulled the door open with a slow caution, as to not tip off any unsuspecting raider on the other side, just like Deacon had showed her. “Then you’ll love their strawberry ones I’m sure. Though they haven’t been the same since Joann left.” Wanderer whispered as she moved to look inside, “She always put…huh. _”_

Aside from the skeletons in a few of the booths and the one sitting at the corner of the bar, the diner was- empty. Though, that was not the rout of her confusion. No. The jukebox against the back wall, was glowing with life. An old piano ballad Wanderer knew but couldn't quite place leaked out of it.

Deacon took the safety of his rifle off next to her with a soft click as she did the same with Deliverer. “Well this is downright creepy.” Deacon spoke over her shoulder.

“I don’t think anybody’s been in here in a while but- that juke is seriously freaking me out. There might be someone in the backroom so, yeah. Be careful.” It was hardy been more than a whisper but- per usual, he heard her.

“Oh, shouldn’t I be the one telling _you_ to be careful.”

She rolled her eyes as they shifted like the well-oiled machine they had become over the last few months. Unhurriedly, with Wanderer in front and Deacon close behind, watching everything she couldn’t see.

It was no surprise that the storeroom was an absolute. The shelves long ago nocked over, their contents purged.

Wanderer relaxed, lowering her gun before addressing Deacon. “That’s the only door into this place. We should be all nice and safe until the storm passes over.

“’Should’ is the magic word, Wands.” He slung Church Bell, his gun, back over his shoulder, “’Should’ and ‘will’ don’t mean the same thing.”

“I know Dee,” She sighed, “I… know.” Wanderer set Deliverer down on the bar’s counter upon reentry into the main room of the dinner. She moved to the door and turned the bolt lock, securing their safety for the time being. Her eyes turned to watch the jukebox’s glow. It illuminated the checkerboard tiles of the floor with yellow and purple. It was the most colorful thing she had seen in a long while.

Deacon plopped himself down in the booth, facing the door.

Oh, how he wished Wanderer would stop doing that- leaving her gun anywhere but on her person. But from the tone in her last words, he held his tongue from saying anything of it this time.

She had retorted to his chastise with the mournful tone she normally had when she started to get lost in thought. When Wanderer began to- well, wander. Leaving to distant memories and places he couldn’t quite see. Where he couldn’t follow.

“So how ‘bout that something-berry shake, Miss Waitress?” He stretched his arms out across the length of the table and she walked over to sit opposite her partner. Not facing the exit.

Was she trusting him to keep point? No. More likely the thought hadn’t crossed her mind. Another thing to work on and damnit- Deliverer was still on the counter.

“Why of course sir,” Once again, she played along. “May I interest you in our senior discount as well?”

Her retort snapped him from his growing ‘How Not to Get His Partner Killed’ checklist. He sat up straight and put a hand of her tee shirt as if he were shocked. “Why I never! I’ll have you know I’m not a day over twenty!”

Green flashes found their way through the grime covered windows as they spoke.

Wanderer rested her elbows on the dusty table, lacing her fingers together and setting her chin on top of them. “Didn’t you say that lies need to sound just a little realistic?”

He mirrored her posture. “You caught me. I’m twenty-four and a half.”

She smiled at him, a gesture which he also returned. “Tinker Tom would lose his big ol’ mind if you could persuade him to believe that you’re the same age as me.”

“He thinks I can travel through time. It could be that hard to convince him.”

“Wait.” She sat back against the pleather; arms resting. “Tom thinks what?”

“You haven’t gone terminal snooping in HQ yet? Get a shot of anything in that man then ask him about it next time your bored.”

She was about to respond when the piano coming out of the jukebox faded. It was replaced with the machine’s claw putting the cassette back into its slot, then picking another.

What came out next was quiet at first. But the instrument was unmistakable. A violin filled the dinner with a haunting version of Frederic Chopin’s Nocturne.

Nate could play it, like he could so many other songs.

It was always funny to her. Her Nathan, always the strong military man with the heart of gold and a mind to rival that of her scientist father’s- forced into violin lessons by his mother.

He would play for her when they were in high school and when they were even younger… They had the same teacher in fourth grade before her father finally relented and let her pursue the paint side of the arts. She had only stayed with the retched thing because it meant she’d be able to spend more time with they boy she had a crush on. That was before their beautiful baby, Shaun. Before the draft and her schooling. Before the war-

“Wands?” Deacon set a hand down gingerly on top of her own.

She blinked a tear away as she looked from the music box to his hand upon hers. “Sorry for spacing out, I- I just used to really like that song s’all.” She closed her eyes as the melody ended too quickly. Far too quickly. “I used to hear it a lot.”

The next cassette started, and Deacon smiled. His ‘hey, I’m sad too. I understand how you're not alone in this’ smile. “Would you look at that? The DJ listened to my request.” He stood up and held out his hand to her. “Now I haven’t danced in a few whatever’s but what kinda best pal would I didn’t dance with mine once in a while?”

“Dee, are you sure?” Wanderer stood up slowly looking at his outstretched hand. “I’m terrible at dancin’.”

He shrugged. “Eh, well good thing there _shouldn’t_ be anybody in here to throw tatoes at us, right?”

She took his hand. “Yeah, yeah whatever. Don’t complain when I get your shoes all scuffed up.”

“I have faith in ya’ Boss, don’t worry.”

A gentle piano cover of La vie en rose drowned out the storm.

He pulled her close to him as radiation and lighting threatened the outside world. He took her out to the center of the room. He set his hand not holding Wanderer’s own on her hip. All movements that were out of character for Deacon. But what did she know of his character? What- if anything did she know about this man? That he didn’t like heights? Couldn’t pronounce yao guai? In the five or six months she had known him, he tried to convince her that he was in charge of The Railroad and not Desdemona. He tried to pull his whole synth routine on her too.

It was a ghost of a touch on her side that made her question everything she though she knew about him. Deacon held her like he was scared she was made of glass and he could break her if he moved to fast. His contact with her had trepidation soaked through it as if he were yelling at himself for even suggesting being this close to her. Surly, she was imagining it.

Their dancing was more of a slow swaying side to side than anything.

Occasionally, he would spin her, and they would both start chuckling softly. With each motion she forgot that it was more than just the two of them.

It began to slip her mind that they were in a crumbling building. Surrounded by the long since dead with an apocalyptic storm raging outside.

Whatever job the two of them were on for Carington didn’t matter in this movement. Preston didn’t need her back at the Castle to go over supply routes for their growing settlements.

In their shared movements, she had never once shot a gun in this moment. Raider nor Gunner had ever fallen because of her. They weren’t there to begin with.

Everything else terrible she had done since October never happened. It was just… her dancing in a diner with her best friend. He was her best friend who she loved dearly. She knew everything about him. In turn, he knew the same of her.

They lived in a world where Deacon never lost what ever it was that he lost. He didn’t hide behind those glasses. She knew what color his eyes where and could look at them freely.

Her Nate was sitting in the booth the pair had just left. Maybe he was across from some woman that Deacon loved, laughing at the two of them. Everything was okay.

The song ended as Deacon spun her around one last time.

They looked at each other, grinning like idiots. If they lived in some cheesy romcom maybe he would’ve leaned down and kissed her forehead or something. But they didn’t live in a pre-war movie. They were just two people dangling off the same cliff and hoping not to fall, just like everybody else.

He looked from her to the widows. In their charade, the storm had come fully and gone. “Think its fine to head back into the brave unknown, boss.”

“The brave unknow that is Carrington yelling at us for being late?”

“What do you mean us?” He went to the bar and picked up Deliverer before taking her hand and setting the weapon in it. “He’s yelling at you; I was just in it for the ride.”

She rolled her eyes at him as they headed to the door. “Oh no. You’re not slipping out if this one buddy.”

“Me? Get out of a sticky situation? Never.”

With that, the pair left the safety of the dinner, leaving the music playing for whom ever next decided to enter.


End file.
